I Live With A Parasite
by ForgingAPointlessParable
Summary: Harry has a problem; something keeps taking control. And it wants to kill. And keep killing. Needless to say, Harry goes through a lot, forcing him to change drastically. He has to if he wants to survive. Rated M for violence, swearing, and portayal of several mental disorders. (no sex)
1. I Seem To Be Falling

_**Authors Notes:**_

_I originally started this fanfiction with two visions. One: In Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry sees himself in his boggart. Two: Twist right at the very end that _ (sorry can't give it away). It grew and grew with me adding more and more to the plan. I wanted normal science to make sense (hard, almost impossible). I wanted it to be realistic. I wanted Harry to go through a lot of pain (and I mean a fucking lot!). I needed to start from the very beginning (before Hogwarts) and it needed to last until seventh year, a big project for your first ever fanfiction._

_I wanted Harry to be a massive introvert and getting afraid of talking to people, despite being really smart and __realising__ that being socially awkward is stupid. He works on it over the years and occlumency helps but I like him like that._

_My fic may make Harry a bit of a Marty Stu (or whatever the male version for Mary Sue is) and while I try to lower it a bit, I both like Harry as a character this way and it makes sense in my opinion given the fact that he's smart, and has magic. Why not make yourself a perfect person if you have magic? I try to give him disfigurements and psychological issues to combat this but if you still don't like him because he is too powerful or something, then read a different fic. I made this purely for my enjoyment. _

_Yes, this is a Hinny fic and if you don't like that, call me fucked up, I don't care. It's subjective. If you don't like Hinny then try and replace her with someone else in your mind, or just ignore it. However, in my experience, this doesn't work so you might just want to skip that part or read a different fic. __**But**__, do bear in mind that I won't actually have them in a romantic relationship until fifth or sixth year. They will be friends by either second or fourth year. I don't want to get too romantic but I am a romantic or whatever it's called so I do want some perfect moments. However, I also like realism so there will be a couple fights because no one can get along perfectly and people will always argue about the smallest things._

_Magic doesn't make sense in terms of science; however, I try to make it make sense (maybe unsuccessfully) and exploit these facts I believe are true in the Harry Potter world. I hope they are interesting. I have a few ideas that I want to explore but if you have any ideas yourself, please tell me. _

_Most fanfictions are unfinished and I think mine will be the same but I will try my best to get at least halfway through the story, and it is going to be a long one. I plan to do all seven years plus pre-hogwarts. Yes, a little ambitious of me for my first fanfic but ah well. This will probably end up in a never-ending Hiatus but I will always tell myself that I will never abandon it._

_If you think my fic is bad, either tell me what to do to fix it, or go read a different fic. However I reserve the right to completely refuse your suggestions. If you are going to just complain that it's bad and not say how to fix it, then your comments are useless._

_Also, I almost forgot: __**DISCLAIMER:**__** None of the characters that you recognise are owned by me. They are all the property of J.K. Rowling. I do not profit in money off of any of this. Life's tough, I know.**_

_Also, __**Another Disclaimer:**__** Scenes with violence, blood, gore, swearing and possibly some sexual scenes are contained within this fanfiction. Proceed at your own risk. You have been warned.**_

_**Dun Dun DUUUUUUUUUUUN!**_

**{ .o0()0o. }**

**Chapter 1 - How did I get here?**

He was being squeezed on all sides.

Bones were contorted and bent. Eyes were squished and compressed. His eardrums were straining, about to burst under pressure. His tongue felt like it was half-way down his throat and his lungs had been crushed, eliminating the possibility of breathing. It was like being squeezed through a pipe a millimetre in diameter.

It felt like he was going to die.

And then it was all over. His bones were sore but still straight, eyes strained but still seeing, ears aching but still intact, tongue, remarkably, back in his mouth, lungs fully operational. He had survived, it seemed, unharmed.

The vomit exploded out of his mouth and splashed onto the floor where it pooled, spreading outwards, creeping across the concrete ground. He kept heaving, spewing up more with each convulsion, adding to the puddle.

Maybe not completely unharmed.

Tears were leaking out of his eyes, both from the pain of whatever had just happened and the horrible sensation of turning his stomach inside out. He was only nine and two months old after all.

Panting, he collapsed, right into the pool of vomit where it stuck uncomfortably to the side of his face. After a few seconds it started burning slightly from the acidity and he removed his head from the sick by rolling over to the side.

Harry Potter's brain took a second to process that he was not on the ground, about to be beaten to death by a gang of boys, the leader of which just so happening to be his cousin and was instead, on the roof of a building with a ledge on all sides. Harry wasn't sure how far it was but he could see the top of other houses and they were quite a few metres below him.

Unless he had been unconscious and moved up here, Harry didn't think it was possible to teleport. It would be cool if he could though. He'd be able to go anywhere he wanted in a single second. However, this was assuming that he could do it whenever and wherever.

A sharp pain in his right hand yanked Harry away from his musings and his eyes met red.

Ok he was definitely harmed in whatever the hell had just happened.

He was bleeding. Quite heavily.

Not only was he bleeding, but he was bleeding blood from two tiny stumps on his right hand, where his little and ring fingers should have been. A flash of white was shining at the bottom of one of them and Harry knew that that was his bone.

It hurt.

Harry started whimpering from the pain and a few tears leaked out of his eyes as he cradled his hand close to his chest, smearing the blood all over himself.

Crying is pointless. Harry had learnt that by the tender age of five. No matter how hard you cried, things weren't just going to get better. You had to get up and do something, if you could. Despite knowing this, Harry still felt tears run down his face and land on the floor as he whimpered from the pain.

It continued to throb with a sharp pain and Harry could swear it felt like it was expanding, increasing the pain further.

He had just lost two fingers. Two whole bloody fingers!

It took a few minutes for his brain to think of anything else but he eventually realised he needed to clean the wound. The blood was still oozing out of it. It could lead to infection and the possibility of dying would be looking much higher. He just needed to find a sink, anti-septic and a bandage. Maybe more than a bandage. In fact it might be good to start applying pressure to it now.

With that thought, Harry grabbed his right hand with his left and squeezed. Instantly, the pain intensified and he let out a loud moan, tears still running down his nose.

He was just going to need a second for the pain to ebb away a bit.

**{ .o0()0o. }**

Harry didn't know how long, but it felt like hours before he felt like he could get up.

Still clutching his hand to his chest and applying pressure, Harry got to his feet and looked around.

He was still stuck on a roof, and, if Harry could recognise the houses that surrounded him, then he was on his school's roof. Not good. He was on top of a four-storey building. Harry was going to have to find a way down that suited his now disabled state, preferably without injuring himself further while doing so.

He tottered over to the side and looked down to a twenty metre drop. Ok, definitely not jumping. The floor was concrete and there was a spiked fence surrounding the building that would not end up prettily for him if he fell on either.

Surprisingly, Harry wasn't really affected by the height, he could look down without a real sense of vertigo.

The playground seemed empty and Harry couldn't hear anything; the kids had gone inside for the end of lunch-break. There didn't seem to be any adults around either; he couldn't call for help.

Leaning his elbow on the terrace as a support, Harry edged his way around the roof, peering down the sides for a way down, all the while conscious that the edges of his vision were darkening.

It was only after he saw it that he remembered that the school had construction work being done on it and there were scaffolding supports going up the walls. He could use them to climb down.

Harry shuffled over to the scaffolds and onto the top level, pretty difficult with both hands occupied, one hand bloody and ruined and the other staunching the blood flow. There was a ladder with thin rungs going down to each floor and Harry was pretty sure he could climb down it...

…if he had the use of both his hands. Currently, one was occupied by helping to recuperate the other.

The height between the steps were an additional problem for Harry but nevertheless, he would give it a go; there wasn't anything else he could do.

Awkwardly, Harry sat down on the top rung and put his legs on the next one down. Even then his legs were almost completely straight. He would need to sit down on the rung he was putting his feet on and move his feet down to the next one, leaning his head back to push against the rung above him so that he didn't topple over and fall the twenty metres down onto a concrete floor or the sharp, spiked fence.

With baited breath, partly from fear, the other from the pain, he started down.

Now he was afraid of the height and every slight centimetre off his intended location of moving to, his stomach would clench and he would try everything he could to get back to where he wanted to be. The steps were wet as it had rained recently, not helping him stay on.

It was the second to last step where Harry lost his footing and slipped, throwing himself forward and face planting onto the platform where he felt his nose break.

Harry didn't lose his momentum though and he felt his body continue over the edge of the platform. His arms flailed to grab something and he knocked his injured hand against a pole, sending a shock of pain down his arm, preventing him from grabbing anything else.

During free fall, Harry turned over to face the ground and saw, rushing up to meet him, the iron, spiked fence running around the school.

He was going to die. He knew it.

He flailed his limbs for something to hold on to, despite his arms probably ripping out their sockets if he did catch and hold onto something.

Harry wished he was somewhere else. Somewhere he could land softly, a body of water or some cushions. A trampoline? Anything. Was it too much to ask?

He just didn't want to be impaled onto a spiked fence.

His body suddenly squeezed.

He was being suffocated again. It didn't feel quite as painful as last time which was a plus. It still felt like being squeezed through a hollow needle.

When Harry's experience of being flushed down the toilet made for a mouse finished, he could still feel wind rushing past him and he opened his eyes, only to see green ground rushing up to meet him.

With a sickening thud, he landed on the ground and Harry lost consciousness.

**{ .o0()0o. }**

_**Authors Notes:**_

_So... bit of a short first chapter but I think most introductions shouldn't be too long._

_NOTE: If you are ever in a situation where you have cut off a finger or toe, simply raise it about your heart to make it harder for the blood to flow out of it. You can get it reattached within twelve hours of it coming off._

_Sorry that I made Harry act a little older than his age (9). A real nine year old would be bawling his eyes out, crying and screaming. I can't quite have that as it attracts attention and questions and I need Harry to fall off a building without interruptions please!_

_Not only did Harry fall twenty metres which is already quite big for you American readers out there (about 62 feet), but he fell an extra five to ten metres from his apparition and I'd like to think that you keep most of your momentum during teleportation._

_This means he fell a total of about 25-30 metres (about 82-98 feet) hitting the floor at about 80kmph (about 50mph) if his weight was for the average eight year old boy (Harry is a bit malnourished). I will say that it is lucky he didn't break his neck and die. My only answer, accidental magic. Why? Plot convenience._

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter, the next one should come out within the next month if I finish it on time._


	2. Yet My Hands Are Painted Red

_**Author's Notes:**_

_If you realise that the style of writing is slightly different, then I would like to give credit to my sister for BETAing this chapter. She really helped a lot with all of this._

_Also! Schooling system. In case American readers do not know, primary school is basically Kindergarten to 5__th__ Grade. Secondary school is 6__th__ to 10__th__ grade. Sixth form (Year 12 and 13) is the 11__th__ and 12__th__ Grades._

_Harry is nine years old and is in Year 5 (4__th__ Grade for Americans)._

_Don't harp on about my spelling. Check if it is just the British version of the word before you comment that I got it wrong._

_If I did actually spell something wrong, review and I might change it, just to make you happy. I'm so nice. _

_**DISCLAIMER**__**: I do not own any of the characters already in the Harry Potter universe and I am purely writing this for my enjoyment.**_

_**WARNING**__**: Graphic imagery, gore and how I would describe a person with an addiction for murder is within this chapter.**_

_Hope you enjoy._

**{ .o0()0o. }**

**Chapter 2 - My Hands are Covered in Red**

Harry awoke to a rhythmic throbbing throughout his body.

His chest, arms, hand, leg, and head pulsed from the pain and he was struggling to breathe.

Harry's eyes were full of gunk as he tried to open them. When a crack of light hit his retina, he recoiled from the intensity of it, squeezing his eyelids back together and jerking his head back.

His ears were assaulted by muffled noises and he groaned in response.

As Harry's brain caught up, he managed to decipher the words.

"It's all right. You're going to be ok."

He seemed to be moving, not very fast but enough to shake his body and cause bursts of pain along it. He moaned again.

He attempted to open his eyes again against the harsh light and managed to squint out around him.

White tiles on a ceiling were rushing past him and two figures on either side of Harry were jogging on the spot.

No, wait. He was moving so they must be pushing whatever he was moving on.

As Harry's eyes grew accustomed to the light, he found his head was propped up and he could see the rest of his body, lying on a bed.

His body was broken, fragile, misshapen.

Harry's left leg, propped up, was bent halfway down the shin, veering off and sticking out of the bed space. His right wrist was swelled up and his hand was wrapped in bandages. His torso and top of his legs were covered by a gown but Harry could feel tight straps around his chest. The rest of Harry's body that was visible were covered in bruises and cuts.

Harry hyperventilated, increasing the pain in his chest. He was going to be disabled for the rest of his life. He was going to have to cope with being in a wheelchair and being aided in everything he did. Simple things like going to the bathroom were going to take lots of planning.

Harry's train of thought was interrupted by a gentle hand landing on his shoulder. It still hurt.

"Hey! Hey. Look at me."

His eye's swiveled round and landed on a woman's face etched with worry and a great deal of pity.

"You are going to be alright. Calm down. Everything is going to be just fine."

Harry tried. He really did, but no matter what, he couldn't stop panicking.

He felt rivers flow down his cheeks in his fit of anxiety and heard a wailing sound. It took a few seconds for Harry to realise it was him making the noise.

"I need to calm him down." The woman spoke to the person on the opposite side of Harry.

"Local anaesthetic?" This voice was male and sounded nervous; less in-control.

"No; he's in shock and that wouldn't help. We'll have to use a sedative. General anaesthetic is probably going to be best. He's going to go into surgery anyway."

Harry still couldn't stop crying. General anaesthetic would mean he would fall asleep. Harry did not want to be unconscious!

"You're right; it isn't really needed," the woman responds to something Harry hadn't heard over his crying. 'It would be faster than giving multiple injections and what we don't have here, Williams, is _time_."

"What about parental consent?" The man had to raise his voice over the increasing sounds of Harry crying.

"This could be _life-threatening_, Williams. Does a punctured lung mean anything to you, or did you graduate school on a fluke?"

A muttered apology from the other person didn't do anything to draw Harry's attention from what the woman had said.

He could die.

His parents had died. They had left him and become nothing.

Harry started to go into a full panic attack. He didn't want to become nothing. He wanted to be good at school. He wanted to get a job as a teacher like Mr. Edwards at school. He wanted to _live_.

He didn't want to stop seeing, stop feeling, stop breathing.

Speaking of which, it suddenly felt much harder to breathe with a punctured lung.

Harry could feel his heart beating violently in his chest as if it was trying to escape.

His head was pushed forward, but Harry struggled weakly against it. After a couple of seconds of futile effort, a mask was slipped onto his face, covering his mouth.

Harry's wailing was muffled but he cried louder to compensate.

The mask was clear and plastic - _sterile_. As if he was being disposed of in a quick, clean, _impersonal_ manner.

His heart was thumping more, an unsteady beat in his chest.

Harry looked over to the nurse on his left. He eyed the scissors in her breast pocket and something within him _begged _him to grab them…

The air didn't taste right.

His strange urge grew stronger, overpowering his fear, and Harry lifted his left arm slightly towards her.

Tired. His eyes felt like they were lifting elephants and his breathing slowed to a snail's pace. _Tired_. His hearing faded out until he could barely hear his ragged breaths or his thumping heartbeat.

His left arm flopped back down.

With a last gulp of air and tasting quite a bit of salty tears, Harry Potter faded away into unconsciousness yet again.

**{ .o0()0o. }**

Harry would be the first to admit that his home life wasn't perfect – not that Number Four, Privet Drive had any right to be called a home.

He was mostly ignored by his relatives: his uncle Vernon, aunt Petunia, and cousin Dudley. But it wasn't exactly for the better when they did take notice. While they didn't usually apply physical abuse, they made him do or at least take part in most of the chores. However, he was never rewarded for his efforts. It wasn't that it was taxing – no, Harry had been used to it for a long, long time. It just wasn't _right_ to force a child to be your housekeeper.

Harry wasn't really appreciated, at all. Any achievements in school - and Harry got quite a few - they dismissed or angered over him 'showing up poor Dudders'. Any hobby he excelled at, they ignored and shut out.

They didn't even call him by his name.

"Boy" was the most common. "Freak" was also quite popular, especially with Petunia. "Harry" was only for the public eye.

His living arrangements weren't particularly great; he had slept in the cupboard under the stairs for as long as he could remember. It wasn't too bad. Just cramped with little light. It got worse when they locked the door so he couldn't get out; it was too confined.

Luckily, that only really happened as a punishment or at night when he didn't really need to go out anyway.

When Harry wasn't occupied by chores or running away from the swinging fists and feet of Dudley's gang, he was huddled in the library, reading books. Be it fiction or non-fiction, he read as much as he could. He did sometimes research burning questions which popped into his brain at random and his school grades benefitted hugely from this. Harry was top of the class in Maths and Science and he was praised by his teachers all compliments, of course, ignored by the Dursleys. He struggled slightly with English but worked with Mr. Edwards to surpass this. The others were impressed by his diligence.

That was part of the reason why the teachers vouched for Harry, saying he wasn't stupid enough to escape the school and climb a dangerous tree to fall off in the nearby park.

When Harry was asked about how he got into the situation, he lied and replied with, "I can't remember." After all, no one was going to question a nine-year-old with head trauma.

After all, if he did tell the truth, the doctors would tell him he should write a fantasy book or laugh at him for being a naïve child and living in his own imagination.

The doctors had been confused over how Harry had two missing fingers. About a week after his fall, a traumatised Year Four student had screamed at a teacher about two severed fingers on the floor. It was amazing a rat hadn't eaten them. Unfortunately, it was too late to reattach them, and it would have been in a too unsanitary condition anyway.

Harry had spent his first few days in the hospital unconscious and the doctors had worried that he was in a coma. When Harry had finally woken up, he had found himself trussed up like a turkey and went into a state of panic again, falling asleep once the nurse had calmed him down.

Aunt Petunia had come to visit him at the start of his three weeklong stay at the hospital to tell him she would pick him up when he was able enough to come home. Harry at the time, had still been tied up by almost all his limbs except his left arm and left foot. Otherwise…

He was pretty sure they were enjoying the time they didn't have to care for him but Harry didn't mind too much; he had already accepted that they didn't want him. He still wished that they were just a _bit_ nicer.

Their favourite form of punishment was total isolation. Harry was looking forward to when he got home and he wouldn't be chucked away. There was no way that the Dursleys would confine a disabled child in a dark cage!

Despite Harry's bravado and aloof nature, he did suffer a bit from his lock-ups in the cupboard.

Spiders covered his cupboard. While he wasn't afraid of spiders, he didn't exactly like them either. They were fine if they stuck to the walls or ceiling but if they were on him, Harry would get a little too freaked out and quickly shake them off.

Claustrophobia was another problem as Harry, despite his small size, barely had enough room to straighten his legs and he had to either lie curled up or sit up if he wanted his legs unbent. It certainly didn't help that Harry was slightly afraid of the dark.

It was hunger that was the main problem. While he was given water, food rarely made it into Harry's stomach during his stays in his prison. His small frame and low stamina gave out free hints but no one seemed to take one.

Beatings as a punishment were a rare occasion; they only happened at times that Vernon had had a few too many to drink. Even then, when he hit Harry, it wasn't too much, just a punch or two. They hurt, a lot, but it wasn't like he was being thrown against the wall or beaten to death. Harry's main plan was to get out of his way if he saw the first signs of alcohol. It didn't always work and he quite often ended up with a bruised rib.

So, Harry tried to enjoy his Dursley-free three weeks.

This was, however, a little hard due to there being nothing to do. No books to read, no games to play, not even any chores to do. Lying on his back for three weeks seemed to be impossible.

Harry's salvation were the small exercises his doctor started getting him to do after a few days. Sitting up, shifting a leg, raising an arm, compared to doing nothing, it was something.

On the final day of his stay, Harry was pushed outside the hospital on a wheelchair. Harry had thought the transportation method cool and had asked to keep it, both to annoy his relatives of having to take care of something large and for its utility. The nurse transporting him over had smiled a little but had said no.

Uncle Vernon had been there to pick Harry up in his shiny new company car. Aunt Petunia had gone to the shops with her 'Diddikins,' to pick out a Halloween costume for trick or treating later that night.

When lifting Harry into the vehicle, Vernon tightened his grip around Harry with a little more force than necessary. Vernon had appeared smiling and happy, joyful at having his nephew back in his life to put up an appearance for the nurse wheeling Harry out the hospital.

The car door slammed shut, breaking Uncle Vernon's façade. The fake smile plastered on his face dropped as he stared menacingly at Harry.

On the nerve-wracking silent drive back to Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry, stuck in the back, reflected on what he had felt just before he had been forced unconscious by the anaesthetic.

Killing was not a good thing. Harry knew that. So why had he suddenly had the raw, indescribable urge to grab those scissors and-

No. He… He shouldn't think about that. Maybe… Maybe he had been scared and wanted to find a means of escape?

That had to be it. There was simply no other option.

Harry chewed on his lip and turned his head to look out of the window, resigning himself to the Dursley's lifestyle.

**{ .o0()0o. }**

Harry trembled from a rage.

This wasn't right! If a nine-year old kid could tell that, how could the Dursleys not! It is wrong to lock a disabled child into a cupboard!

It had been another three weeks since he had been released from the hospital and Harry's mobility had definitely improved. It had not improved to the level of cooking and cleaning that the Dursleys required and they seemed to take that as a personal insult.

This was the fourth time they had locked him away for being 'useless', each giving Harry a huge spike in anger, only kept in check by fear of a worse punishment. Now though, he was too far down the rabbit hole to calm down.

Fuelled by his anger, thoughts of violent murder of the Dursleys ran through his mind. It was a pleasant distraction from his dry mouth and empty stomach. He couldn't think of anything else except the purplish face of Vernon Dursley from lack of oxygen as Harry squeezed his hands tightly around Vernon's fat neck.

Aunt Petunia and Dudley had left to go trick-or-treating and Uncle Vernon had stayed here to "make sure he didn't blow up the house." This was the reason for Vernon being the main role in Harry's current fantasies. He was the most available. Dudley and Petunia would feature later.

Footsteps outside his cupboard alerted Harry to the location of his uncle and a crazy plan went into his head.

Harry could try and kill him! With nothing but his bare hands, the only option was strangulation. It would take a bit too much time but Harry thought that he could do it.

It never crossed his mind that he, an underweight nine-year-old was barely a tenth of the body mass that was Vernon Dursley.

Harry's adrenaline levels spiked and he watched with baited breath as he heard the sound of the latch being opened.

He tensed, coiling himself up, waiting to strike.

The door swung open and Harry leapt up and reached for the hunk of flesh wrapped around the upper spine of his Uncle.

And failed.

When your body is almost completely wrapped in a cast, it is hard to leap out at someone from a sitting position. Harry found this out quite quickly as his face met the floor. This time, instead of breaking his nose, he had turned his head slightly and whacked his left cheekbone on the wooden boards instead.

Harry rolled over and looked up to meet eyes that were struggling to focus on him.

Oh, _great_! Vernon was drunk.

His eyes narrowed as he looked down at Harry. He had clearly seen Harry jump up at him, quite obviously aiming for attack. It was obvious where this was going.

"You wurfless piece of shit!" Vernon roared.

He grabbed hold of both of Harry's arms at the wrist, somehow avoiding the cast around Harry's right hand, and threw him down the hall.

Harry landed on his back, hurting his healing rib, broken leg, and his head - _again_. Dazed, he just sat there as shock overwhelmed him, quickly turning into fear. His heart was still pounding and even seemed to be increasing in both intensity and tempo.

He had never been this violent before! Why now? Why had his Uncle suddenly decided to actively try and hurt Harry?

Vernon stomped over to Harry and grabbed his shirt, raising him to his eye level.

"You fink you can jus' attack me? _Me_?" he roared. "I'll show you whad'll happen!"

He spat in Harry's face before shoving him into the wall and releasing him with one hand.

Dimly, Harry hoped that he might stop but had to accept he wasn't going to go unscathed when his uncle punched him in the gut.

Harry's breath was let out forcefully.

Flashes of him killing Vernon were drawn to the forefront of his mind. In some other part of his brain, he wondered why he was having dark thoughts about killing people now, of all times.

Vernon released his hold on him and Harry dropped to the floor, spent, only to be rudely interrupted by a foot in his chest.

Automatically, he curled up into a ball to allow for his limbs to protect him. Still, the blows came down on him and the visions of death took over more and more of Harry's mind.

The fear that had taken hold of him was turning into... something else.

It was angry, white hot and boiling but calm, gentle as a light breeze. It was controlled, sharpened to a point, but chaotic, a writhing mess of pulsing madness. It wasn't fear. Oh no, Harry was not afraid. Evil? He wasn't sure.

_Hungry?_

Definitely.

And for blood.

From the floor, Harry looked up at Vernon only to see a raging mass of flesh, ready to be ripped apart.

He wanted him dead.

He yearned for it.

His entire life depended on it.

Harry was instantly sucked back through the straw the size of a needle only to find himself in the kitchen, facing the knife rack.

The undefined feeling focused Harry's mind into a sharp point. He had a goal set in front of him.

There was no hesitation.

As soon as Harry grabbed it with his left hand -his right was still incapacitated- he was transported back to where the adult was now blinking stupidly at the floor.

Harry took a step forward and plunged it into the man's side, sending red spurting everywhere. It pulsed out of him and Harry stood transfixed at the hypnotic sight.

This was his desire, his craving.

Blood.

Harry's mind was pierced by shouts of pain. His mind snapped back to the task at hand.

The adult was now on the floor, clutching his side and looking up at Harry in horror. Harry knelt down next to him and brought the knife up.

And down, into flesh.

And up.

And down.

Rhythmically, therapeutically, Harry plunged the knife into the man's stomach repeatedly with a calm face. It was meditative and it was peaceful as piping hot blood splattered all over him, the floor and the walls.

Harry only paused when the thing stopped moving and he watched the blood pool down on the floor around the dead body. Red was now his favourite colour.

It wasn't enough. Harry still _needed_ to hurt something.

Harry took the dead body's face into his hands and stabbed the left eye with the knife.

It popped.

Black juices erupted from the empty socket like a water balloon. It wasn't as mesmerising as the thick, red beauty that was blood.

He still thirsted after more.

Harry dropped the knife and dug his hands into the stab wounds. He rooted around and managed to grab something inside of him. Harry pulled it straight out, revealing the middle of a long thick, snake-like thing.

The large intestine.

Harry had seen a diagram of the organs of a human body before. This was not the same.

This real-life version was bloodier, more grotesque, and so much more appealing. The diagrams were simple, clean and bland.

The sound of keys turning in the lock had Harry looking up to see the front door swing open, revealing a woman and her child, standing against the dark backdrop of the night sky.

She dropped the keys in her hand at the sight of a demon crouching over the broken body of her husband and screeched out in shock, freezing in terror..

Perfect.

Harry found himself in front of the woman as he leapt forward, stabbing the knife into her neck. The blood that surged out was an immediate release for Harry and it almost drowned out the child screaming in terror as he stumbled backwards to get away from the small, demon child, covered in blood that had just stabbed his mother.

Almost.

Focusing his eyes on the fat and terrified boy, Harry leapt off the dead husk and ran at him.

He only made it to the end of the driveway. Harry had thrown the knife with pin-point accuracy and it had lodged itself in the back of the child's neck, cutting the spinal cord. His body slumped to the ground a like a puppet with its strings cut off suddenly.

It was with pleasure that Harry watched the small body's limbs twitch a bit before laying still.

This was enough. His belly was full.

Harry's heart started to slow down in its speed. He took a breath in.

It was not a sudden realisation as he looked around at the carnage surrounding him.

He had killed someone, made them nothing.

Not just someone, three people.

And they were his family.

Shock coursed through Harry's body as he froze, confronted by an inexplicable situation. He retched. Why had he had such a desire for murder? Why didn't he think at the time that he was doing something wrong? It had felt so good.

It had been delirious to kill, to murder.

But now, Harry felt fear. He had no family left now. The Dursleys may have been bad, but they were still related to him. Did he really want them to go?

He, Harry, had sent someone to the empty world of nothing. Hadn't he, just a few weeks ago, been terrified of finding himself lost in that sea of abandonment? Hadn't he, just a few weeks ago, almost experienced what it entailed?

Hadn't he, just a few weeks ago, felt that same emptiness inside him just begging for blood?

Now, he had forced that upon others. He had enforced upon them what he had always been afraid of himself.

Collapsing onto the floor, Harry held up his arms and stared at the red paint covering both of his hands and his cast.

Wait!

How had he done that with himself all bandaged up? He shouldn't have been able to run after Dudley like that with his leg all broken. And surely his chest would have at least grumbled in complaint if he had killed three people?

He started shivering uncontrollably; the shock was still in him. The questions lay unanswered.

His cognitive functions weren't quite working as he lay there, listening to his breath come out of his mouth raggedly.

He wanted… He wanted to be away where he couldn't hurt anyone, away from all this chaos.

He closed his eyes and found himself being compressed again. This time, it was comforting, reassuring him that he would end up somewhere else instead of suffocating and scary.

When Harry was freed from the restricting pipe, his vision blurred as he slipped into unconsciousness all over again.

**{ .o0()0o. }**

_**Author's Notes:**_

_So! A much longer chapter that actually contains what the summary says! Yay!_

_If you don't understand why Harry has suddenly turned into a murderer, it is because Harry doesn't know that he has a parasitic horcrux living in him and that's why he thinks it's himself with the psychopathic thoughts. It makes for a better story if it was told from someone who thought themselves a psychopath._

_And wow I think I got pretty dark there with how he kills people. If you want me to tone it down a little, tell me. If you want more gore, also tell me. I might just listen._

_I know that the hospital would have set Harry's leg straight before they put him on the ambulance but I need to see his body broken and dying to get him panicking. Sorry if I insulted the NHS over competence._

_I plan to have it so that Harry can be disarmed when he has a wand because his grip strength is lowered due to the loss of his ring and little fingers. One of the ways I'm trying not to make Harry a Marty Stu so you're welcome... if that is what you wanted. I'm pretty sure that most people would want this so I'm going with the general populace on this one._

_**Please review so that I can get feedback on whether you readers like it. Preferably, positive reviews or constructive criticism, instead of just saying my work is bad.**_

_**Unless, of course, you just want to hate me and in that case go ahead.**_


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